Different
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Francis is a ballet dancer, Arthur is a punk rock, they're both in high school, and Francis has unmistakably, yet strangely, fallen for the boy so unlike him. FrUk, France/England, high school AU.


He was different. His hair couldn't decide in what direction to stand, his shirts were torn and displayed various band quotes or symbols. His name was Arthur Kirkland, and he was so different from Francis.

Yet Francis somehow couldn't pull his eyes away. He was young, his golden hair usually tied back and his clothing in pastels, everything soft and gentle. Arthur's stood at his locker, gathering books. His studded bracelet slid up and down his arms, glistening in the harsh fluorescents.

Francis watched him, trying to hide the blush creeping up on his face. He doubted Arthur even knew his name, they had only spoken once during a class assignment to discuss the recent English novel they needed to read. Even then Arthur said hardly a word and looked away, out into the cut of sky visibly from the window, his hands folded on his belly.

He was so very different.

Francis put his books in his arms and cast a glance towards Arthur, who was looking back at him. His lips were curled in a smile, a faint one.

"Hey… Francis, right?" He said, leaning against the wall by Francis.

"Yeah, Francis. How are you, Arthur?" Francis felt his heart start to race, though he couldn't tell why. He knew he liked Arthur in a strange affection, but he always loved people. It was his natural demeanor towards all, this time taking a sharper angle, piercing straight into his heart and reflecting towards Arthur at high force.

"I'm good… So, want to hang out after school?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool."

"I'll meet you after school, then?"

"Sure."

Arthur turned and left, his head bowed a slight tremor running along his arm. Francis felt as though he had slipped into a warm, thick daze.

As promised, Francis waited for Arthur outside of the school. Scheduling couldn't have been more perfect. Francis didn't have any ballet classes that night and had previously planned to spend the evening practicing and doing homework. He would much rather talk with Arthur and learn the boy's true character, find that force that compelled Francis nearer and nearer.

Arthur's head bobbed forwards through the crowd, going away from Francis. He was seized with sudden fear. What if Arthur had set up a rude prank? What if it was a trick to get Francis to expose one of his many secrets and spread it around the school like a plague? Francis felt uncomfortable and bitter.

However, Arthur saw Francis and walked over, apologizing for not seeing him before.

"You have a car?" Francis asked. He usually walked home.

"Yeah, do you have somewhere you want to go to in particular?" Arthur asked, leading Francis into the parking spot. Among the many rows of cars, most trashy and cheap, students gathered and gossiped and cast Francis and Arthur strange looks. No one expected the sweet, gentle boy to even look at the punk rock Brit.

"No, I don't mind. Wherever is fine," Francis chuckled, realizing his voice was strangely quiet, even for him.

Arthur nodded, smiling. "I think I know just where to go. Do you have a curfew?"

"No."

"Good."

Arthur opened the door of a healthy looking truck, tossing his backpack in the compartment behind the seats. Francis followed suit and sat in, feeling that strange bubbly emotion welling up again. He refused still to believe that the events taking place were real, that they were happening to him.

"Do you have a special girl?" Arthur asked quite suddenly, averting his eyes so they betrayed none of his true motives. He pulled out of the parking lot, exiting onto the street. The clear blue sky curved overhead, hardly containing a single cloud.

"No," Francis said. There were several girls in his ballet class he was especially comfortable around, but none he wanted to kiss or hold. They understood that. "Do you?"

"No, never," Arthur said, grimacing. "Kind of embarrassing, actually…" He turned the car towards a direction Francis had never gone.

"No, it's not embarrassing, I don't think so at least. It means you're waiting for the right person." Francis said, delving into his inner character. There were flowers and thoughts of pure, true love lining the walls. He didn't dare let Arthur in. No, not quite yet.

"You said 'person'," Arthur noted, almost in an offhand way. "Why not 'girl'?"

"You never know," Francis explained, fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you want a girl…?"

Francis realized then and there, freezing up, that he had never given that question any thought. His feelings towards the female species were solely platonic and he had several crushes, many deep and piercing, others lustful and shallow, on males only. But it seemed so normal to Francis he never dared consider otherwise.

"No," Francis replied in a shaking voice.

"Neither do I," Arthur smirked.

He wasn't so different after all, then.

They reached the rim of a green circle, parking in the designated areas, and getting out. Arthur stepped up on the stone ledge, looking towards the nearly empty park. On the end facing him, albeit quite distant, there was a chain of small vendors, mostly for ice cream or souvenirs. Francis stepped up behind him. Trees shivered in a slight draft, their green leaves glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Want to go get some ice cream?" Arthur offered, pointing towards the small building leaking a dozen or so school children just coming from the end of classes.

"I'd love to." Francis said. Something brushed against his hand. Arthur's fingers lingered by his knuckles, tempted to hold on, but rejecting the idea and heading off. Francis followed closely, his blood drilling at dangerously levels through his veins.

They went into the shop without further comment, buying two cones and starting a long walk around the park with the sugary cream melting on their tongues.

"Would you count this as a date?" Arthur asked, nibbling on his cone.

Francis relaxed, feeling safe rather than nervous. His natural charms, passed down from generation to generation of romantic people, would take over shortly.

"I would."

Arthur held out his hand and Francis took it, squeezing gently.

"We hardly know each other, though." Francis said. At this distance he realized he was a trifle taller than Arthur.

"I'd like to find out more." Arthur replied.

They walked in silence until they came across a bench, taking a seat with their hands still close to each other. Francis's soft fingertips felt warm and sweet on Arthur's own coarse hands.

"What do you like to do?" Arthur asked.

"That's a generic question, but a good one. I like art, cooking, ballet…" Francis blushed. He had never come out and told anyone so freely.

Arthur chuckled, "Don't be shy. I think that's lovely. Why don't you invite me to a concert some time?"

"Would you like to come?"

"Of course…" Arthur leaned back, throwing the napkin he had taken into the trash with perfect aim.

"What about you? What do you like?"

"I like rock, music, books, and writing. I also can enjoy art sometimes, and maybe I'll show you to my favorite place."

Francis smiled, and then it fell away. He turned his head and pulled his arm back, crossing them at his chest. Everything felt vaguely wrong. Impure, indecent.

"Are you trying to get something out of me?" He asked, "Complimenting me so you can go and stab my back?"

Arthur scowled in shock, "No. Why does everyone assume the kid who wears black is the one who wants to ruin you? If you ask me, the ones in nice collared shirts are paving the road to ruin."

"Then why are you talking to me so freely and suddenly? You walk up to my locker and ask me on a date. I would even-"

"Francis," Arthur interrupted, "I've liked you for a really long time, okay? Let me at live out this dream."

Francis fell silent. The sky began to darken at the edges, as though being burned. A woman walking her dog passed without so much as a second glance to them. Arthur's cheeks were flushed, feeling hopeless and miserable. The first thing to go right for him in his measly teenage life was crushed—a butterfly crushed by strong fingers.

"I like you a lot too…" He mumbled after a pause.

"What did you say?" Arthur asked, turning back.

"I said I like you too. I have for a while. I never understood how I could like such a guy who is so different from me, but I doubt now that we're that different…"

"Oh shut your bloody mouth." Arthur said, and before Francis could respond with a tart look on his face, Arthur rose and pressed his lip's to Francis's, briefly, and then panicking, he ran down the road, further from his car.

He was so different, wasn't he?

Francis raced after him.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia._


End file.
